


The Person You Love Most In the World

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Anti-joancroft, F/M, Gen, Joanlock - Freeform, rewriting, season two, spoilers for season two Paint it Black and Art in the Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a thank you for donating to JJB fic for Anvera.<br/>Her prompt: "Joan sleeps with Sherlock instead of Mycroft in "Art in the Blood" (basically delete Mycroft and insert Sherlock into the "scene"). I will leave it up to you to decide how much story re-telling to do so that makes sense. There are few things in this world I loathe more than Joancroft, so I am looking forward to this!" I too am anti-joancroft.<br/>I rewrote parts of Paint it Black and Art in The Blood and also left some of the dialogue from the episodes intact. I'm not sure it works. I may rework /add to the ending at some point. Anvera - thank you for donating to Jonah's Just Begun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Person You Love Most In the World

Sherlock quickly grabbed for his phone.

"What are you doing? Who are you calling?" The veil covering Mycroft's voice was slipping. Sherlock could hear panic in his voice. 

"Agent McNally of the NSA. Mycroft, surely you realize that as soon as we hand over the list to your people, they will murder you, me and Joan."

"I've been doing business with these people for years. They're always as good as their word." Mycroft protested. 

"Heading into this meeting without proper support would be utter folly.  
McNally has access to trained men...."

"I don't think this is wise." Sherlock noticed the attempt by Mycroft to conceal his agitation.

"Well, considering it was your criminally poor judgment which resulted in Joan's abduction in the first place, let's dispense with that foolishness and approach the situation the smart way."

Sherlock knew Mycroft; he didn't trust his motives or his actions. He walked a few steps away from him to make the phone call. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother's hand reaching for the taser and whirled about in time to block his move. They struggled. Sherlock's strength was reinforced by the knowledge that Watson's life hung on the balance and that all Mycroft was interested in was saving himself. 

Angered, Sherlock brought into play instinctual skills, learned in many a childhood fight against his older, taller brother. Mycroft had always been a bully and taken every opportunity to wield power over Sherlock. Even so, the struggle continued and Sherlock fell back on advice he had once given Watson: "Fight dirty." He kneed Mycroft with all his strength, bringing him to his knees. Sherlock picked up the dropped taser and with no remorse used it on his brother. 

Chapter Two

The dark warehouse smelled of mold and decaying wood. Watson was brought back into the room where her young patient lay on a table. He had all the classic symptoms of shock. "He needs to be taken to the hospital. I can't do much more for him here." Her captor took a few steps back to talk to one of the other men. 

Joan examined the young man; she pitied him. How had he ended up here, fighting for his life, in the hands of men who appeared to have no soul. Joan wondered the same about herself. Bad judgment, she thought, in more than one situation had brought her here. 

The French man, the one obviously in charge, had told her about Mycroft, his involvement in all this. With or without Sherlock's admonishments about Mycroft, she had sensed from the very beginning that the man was not honest. Mycroft's words only skimmed the surface of sincerity. But she had refused to listen to her inner voice and now was paying the price. Joan knew her best hope out of this situation rested in Sherlock, and had faith in him, but she worried about the toll of this on his psyche. 

An explosion rocked the building. Joan fell to her knees and sought safety beneath the table in front of her, out of the immediate reach of the Le Millieu henchman. The room was suddenly filled with smoke and loud voices. An invasion by what looked to be the US army in full battle gear secured and brought down the men who held her captive amid gunfire and threats. The body of the man in shock lay above her, exposed to more potential harm. She was torn between thoughts of her own safety and the safety of her patient; both at risk for friendly fire. Coughing, she brought her shirt over nose and mouth trying to stall the infiltration of the noxious smoke into her system. Her eyes stung and her vision was hazy but she felt compelled to come out of hiding and help the man prone above her. As she began to move out from under the table, she heard his voice above the noise of invaders and captors, it cut through straight to her.

"WATSON!" The desperation and fear in his voice was palpable. He repeated her name over and over, coughing as he moved about the warehouse afraid of what he might find. 

Joan answered him, "Sherlock! Here!" She could barely hear her own voice amid the tumult around her, but he heard her. He zoned in on her location and was suddenly in front of her, his breathing out of control and his eyes wild as he searched her face, assuring himself that she was uninjured.

"It's alright. I'm alright." Joan found herself reassuring him. He stood inches from her unable to speak, until something within him snapped and he lunged at her, taking her in his arms and holding her tight to him. Joan, surprised for a split second, almost instantly collapsed into him, trying to disappear within the safety of his arms.

"You're alright, it's alright," he repeated over and over, not sure if it was a question or reassurance for himself. Joan held on until she remembered the poor man beside them. She pulled away from him, "He needs help. He's in shock. He needs help right now."

Sherlock yelled over the din, "This man needs immediate medical assistance." His call was met by two men rushing towards them. 

Sherlock turned his attention back to his partner once more, arm still around her. "You ... You're not hurt? They didn't hurt you ..."

"No. I'm fine. That boy needs help."

Sherlock nodded and waited for the paramedics to reach them, at which point he ushered Watson outside into the fresh night air.

 

Chapter Three

Interviews and debriefings took up the rest of the night for all of them. Mycroft was brought in by the NSA and in his own inimitable way, Sherlock thought, spilled anything and everything he could to save himself. MI6 was thrown into the mix when Mycroft admitted his ties to the group. Sherlock's loud protests that Watson was a victim of all this and should be allowed time to herself before interrogation fell on deaf ears. 

The morning sun was beginning to lighten the corners of the night sky as Joan and Sherlock stepped out of the cab and wearily climbed the steps to the brownstone. Sherlock opened the door and waited for Watson to step through. 

"Joan." The languid voice of Mycroft fell like a blunt weapon in the early morning air. 

Fire ignited behind Sherlock's eyes and he started towards his brother. He was stopped by her hand on his coat. "It's alright. I'll take care of this. Go on inside. I'll call if I need you." Sherlock took a moment to stare Mycroft down, then reluctantly obeyed.

Standing on the steps, Joan looked down on Mycroft Holmes. 

"Joan, I need to talk to you ..."

She cut him off immediately, "No. No, to whatever you came here to say. No, you can't come in. No, I'm not all right. No, there is no possible future for us, once some time goes by. Just no."

Mycroft made an attempt to explain himself, "Joan, I came here to apologize. Because of choices I made years ago, because of my obligation to maintain secrecy, you were placed in terrible danger. Put through an ordeal no one should ever have to go through. If you never want to see me again, I'd understand."

Her face flushed with anger, "That's good, because I don't want to see you again. And it's not because I almost got killed. It's because I cannot believe a word out of your mouth. I know that you had your reasons for everything that you did. But whatever they were, you decided a long time ago that they were much more important than being honest with the people who actually care about you. Someone who is capable of that kind of deception someone who can maintain it for literally years I could never feel comfortable with. Now, Sherlock may be insensitive and-and intrusive, and if anything, too honest, but with him, I know exactly where I stand. He deserves better than you. So do I." 

Joan turned, walked up the stairs and quickly into the brownstone, shutting the door behind her. 

Sherlock waited for her in the library. "Alright?" he asked.

She nodded yes.

He stood, "You need rest. Take a shower. I laid out your bedclothes for you and will be up with some soup. ... Do you think you can manage ..." 

Joan nodded but was relieved when he guided her up the stairs. Dealing with Mycroft drained her of the last of her remaining strength. Numbness was settling in; her brain was shutting down to spare her from the siege of emotions she had hitherto kept contained. 

Midway through her soup, her eyelids drooped and her hand slowly placed the spoon back in the bowl. Her body no longer able to continue, Joan fell asleep. Sherlock was there to take away the tray, to make sure she was covered and warm under blankets, to spend the night sitting and watching over her lest she should need something in the middle of the night. 

The quiet and the darkness gave Sherlock an opportunity to sort out his own barrage of conflicting emotions. His thoughts turned to Watson and how completely intertwined their lives had become, professional and ... he tried to push the words his dolt of the brother had used out of his mind. 

He knew it was quite possibly the truest thing Mycroft had ever said. "She is the one person you love most in the world ..." Sherlock tried quantifying the statement: "But that's because I don't love anyone, so even if I barely cared for her, of course that would mean I care about her most." He snorted at himself. Even he didn't believe the lies he told himself. 

Watson stirred. Muttering, unintelligible noises that had the potential for words, she became more and more agitated, tossing the covers away in her sleep. 

"No, no! Please, help ..." Her words were clear and desperate now and propelled Sherlock to her side.

He placed his hands on her flailing arms, sat at her bedside and tried to reassure her. "You're safe... You are safe ... It's alright ... I'm here ..." 

Watson responded slowly, catching her breath, laying back down. She opened her eyes and looked at him through a sleepy haze, and held on tight to his forearms. Her face relaxed, her breathing normalized and she was soon fast asleep again.

Sherlock stayed by her side through the night, through a few more episodes of terror, each one somewhat less intense. In between the bouts, he sat and watched her and thought. By morning's light, he was convinced that he had most likely been the worst thing that ever happened to Watson. Knowing him had ruined this woman's life; he had brought her nothing but pain. 

 

Chapter 4

Contrary to his wishes, she insisted on going with him to interviews and investigations in the morning. Sherlock had charged himself with sorting out the mess that Mycroft had made. He perceived his brother acted selfishly, with little regard for others but he did not believe Mycroft's intent was criminal or evil. Sherlock made various attempts to contact his brother throughout the day with no luck. 

Between sessions of interrogation, the subject of her going to counseling, to talk about her experiences with a professional, was brought up by him and met with a grey stone wall of resistance from her, followed with the ubiquitous, "I'm fine." By mid-afternoon, Joan's energy and focus were failing and he escorted her back to the brownstone.

 

\---------  
Joan sat on the library sofa, red cardigan over her shoulders, mug of tea in hand, seeking to draw in as much comfort as she could. The trauma would be a long time going but she knew it could have been so much worse. Jem survived due to her medical intervention; she had been of use, risen to the occasion and not succumbed to her own fears. She found solace in the thought. 

Her phone chimed a text. She smiled. Sherlock had been texting her regularly since he left the brownstone. She wasn't sure if he just missed her or was worried about her well being. This ordeal had not been easy on him. The man did not do well with emotions. 

The text asked her to meet him at Mycroft's flat. Joan scrunched her face in pain. She did not want to see Mycroft and the thought of being caught between the sniping of the Holmes brothers filled her with dread. Sherlock said it was urgent so she reluctantly complied. 

\------ 

The door was slightly opened and she listened for the sounds of the brothers arguing before walking in. There was no sound. 

Her first sight on entering was that of Sherlock standing at the large picture window, gazing out at the steel blue horizon. She glanced around for Mycroft, relieved when she found no trace of him.

"He's gone," dry and flat, Sherlock's voice broke the silence. Joan could not make out the look on his face. "He's made a mess of things and in his own typical style, rather than stay and work to clear his name, my brother ran away."

Joan closed the gap between them, "Where could he go that MI6 couldn't track him?"

"Forgive me for being blunt, but he is for all intents and purposes, dead." Joan stood confused before him. He stopped and took a tired breath before continuing. "He bargained out a deal with the NSA; he gives them information and they give him a new identity. They've staged a fire at Diogenes, provided a corpse that they will identify as Mycroft and take him away to start a new life. He claimed he did it for us. " Disgust showed on Sherlock's face. "Much easier than working to resolve the problem ... He wouldn't even face you, charged me with giving you his apologies. ... I'm sorry."

Joan reached for his arm placing her hand lightly. "You don't have to apologize for him. You are not responsible ..."

"But I am responsible for what he put you through ... What I've put you through. You would have been much better off without me or him in your life."

"Unlike your brother I take responsibility for my actions. I am who I am because of the choices I've made. This is who I am and I'll continue the work with or without you. ..... I would prefer with you."

"This whole ordeal made me realize how much I ...." he paused and looked down, not daring to look at her as he spoke. "How important you are ... How much I value ..." Sherlock sighed and looked at her, "How much I care about you. If anything had happened to you I couldn't have...." His voice faded to a whisper. His fingers brushed hers and retreated.

Joan closed her eyes and lowered her head, her voice barely audible, "As scared as I was during the ... the ordeal ... at points I think I was more scared for you. ... Terrified at the thought of what you were going through.... I had every faith that you would find me, but I was worried at what cost ...." 

Inches away from his chest she looked up at him, his head bowed towards hers. The moment transcended thought: warmth of bodies almost touching, sound of breaths taken in unison, assurance as hands reached out, fingers entwined and held on, drew them forward. Gently their lips touched and backed away and touched once more until feeling secure in the others desire, they joined and all the pain and fear was forgotten. She was safe..... He was safe..... 

Joan clutched at him, holding on as if at any moment he would disappear. 

He murmured everything he promised he'd say to her should he ever get the chance. Fat tears rolled down both their faces as they stopped to catch their breath. 

"Please don't let go, please .... " Joan burrowed her head into his neck and he responded by grabbing her all the tighter. 

Contrary to every instinct that told them to stop, they continued, eventually finding themselves on Mycroft's bed. They found solace in each other, shared a gentle, natural intimacy that grew to burning passion and, once culminated, found themselves back in the comfort of each other's bare arms.


End file.
